All That is Gold
by uncer giedd geador
Summary: Thorin feels the treasure of Erebor slip through his fingers, and Durin's kin discover the true price of gold.


**Not entirely sure where this fits in with book or film (that said, I'm pretty sure it's book-based, I just can't quite recall all the circumstances). I thought watching the film would inspire me, but as it turns out I came out only with this, which was sort of in my head anyway.**

**WARNING: this really isn't one of my funny ones. At all. But still, here it is. If violence, angst and darkness isn't you, then DON'T READ!**

All That is Gold

In recent days, Bilbo has been formulating a new theory of where the Lonely Mountain might have got its name.

The dwarves fuss and coo over their new-found treasure; comparing craftwork; counting gems; trickling coins through their fingers; gazing adoringly down at their own wide, gold-reflected eyes. They pick and choose and hoard and, grudgingly, relinquish one treasure for the sake of another, heavier, brighter, better. Bilbo admires too, takes in the awe of it, but the shine on the goblets still reminds him of his burnished brass kettle back home.

Thorin does not hoard. Thorin hovers at the edges, scanning the heaps and piles, turning over platters and ancient breastplates with the toe of his boot, waiting for that one elusive glimpse of the jewel he now fears to be irredeemably lost... He broils, getting bitterer each day, and the others learn to stay apart and keep to their own.

The only ones unaffected besides Bilbo, it seems, are the two remaining heirs of Durin. Sickening of the treasure piles after a day, they wander off together, seeking out the corners of their new-found kingdom. Today (or tonight – he cannot tell down here, though the dwarves seemingly can) he chooses to take after them, scattering coins in his wake. They do not go far. Thorin still prowls in the corners of their vision. Fíli settles his back against one of the mighty pillars that surround the edges of the hall, and Bilbo settles himself in a hollow near him. It is only after a few quiet, confused minutes that he realises the reason for their placement.

They are keeping watch.

Over Thorin.

Kíli builds towers out of coins, castles and fortresses, grinning when they come tumbling down. After a while, Bilbo joins in out of boredom, stacking them higher and higher until they cascade down over Fíli's feet. A wordless look is exchanged between the three of them, and suddenly Bilbo finds himself pooling gold over the elder dwarf, as Kíli alternatively helps and tries to pin his stubborn brother down.

Its faces fine-cut to a cool, smooth curve, it sends thrills through Bilbo's fingertips as they scrape it. He does not need to look to know what it is.

_Found you. At last. _

"Is that…?"

"The Arkenstone." Fíli breathes, shrugging a weight of gold off his shoulders, the coronet Kíli has teasingly placed on his forehead slipping forward as he does so. He unearths the treasure slowly. The light seems to shine out of it, reflected in ten thousand rays. Bilbo at once sends a wary glance behind them. Fíli turns the stone in his hands, twisting it this way and that, then passes it to his brother without demur.

Kíli tosses it from one hand to another. "What are we waiting for? Let's show Thorin."

Bilbo's eyes meet Fíli's. "No. We should wait."

Kíli looks up, eyes bewildered. "But it's his. And he's been searching for it for days. He's barely slept."

"I do not think-" Fíli begins with difficulty. "I do not think it would do him any good."

"He would give half the wealth in this hall to hold it. He said-"

"I fear for how he may react-"

"Well, I'll wager my share that he'll rejoice to see it." Kíli raises himself to his feet. Fíli struggles to follow, still partly trapped by the heap over his legs.

"Kíli, don't-"

"What is it you bicker so about?" Thorin's voice echoes from the steps above them. Instinctively, Kíli shoves the jewel under his shirt before turning towards him, wavering just slightly before stepping forwards, up the stairs.

Bilbo feels his hand encircled in a rough grip as Fíli strains to pull himself upright, nearly overbalancing the hobbit. He rapidly shovels away the oppressive bulk of the gleaming metal trapping the dwarf and helps him up.

"What have you found?" Thorin asks urgently, eyes ablaze and wary.

Kíli pauses for a split second, half-turned towards his brother, before unveiling it gently, almost reverently. The hungry gaze snaps to the sparkling, blinding gem, and holds. Thorin's hand reaches out, palm upwards, silently expectant, but Kíli starts back, reading something in his uncle's eyes. He hesitates just a fraction too long.

Bilbo's head whirls, as though the gold under his feet is slipping treacherously away, another avalanche with a fiery chasm of death waiting beneath. His mind cannot make it all out: Kíli lying on the floor, the shouts ricocheting around him:

"KĺLI!"

"You dare to withhold it- It is mine by right! Give it to me!"

"Uncle? It's me, m-"

Something clicks into place in Bilbo's mind as he watches Kíli try to struggle to his feet one-handed, before two more blows leave him on the floor again, still too shocked to put up a defence. Fíli charges past him, gold coins and gold braids flying, and panic sends Bilbo stumbling after.

"Uncle! Stop! It's Kíli! Stop!" Fíli gets in the way of the next strike as he attempts to tackle Thorin to the ground, but with a strangled roar the larger dwarf throws his heir out of his path, sending him tumbling back down the steps, where he lands at the bottom with a sickening thud, blood trickling from his brow. He stays there, motionless.

Paralysed, Bilbo does the only thing he can think of and yells for them: Balin and Dwalin and Gloín and anyone else whose name reaches his lips, hoping beyond hope that his cries will bring them out of their gold-induced stupor. He fills his lungs and shouts louder, thinking in his unthinkingness that his calls must need be heard over the cries from above him, as Thorin's cold fury drives him to kick and pound his kinsman unceasingly.

The gold ring in his pocket beckons, but what good can it do? Helpless blue eyes meet his as Fíli stirs feebly, and Bilbo's fingers are drawn to the cold band anyway, knees unlocking. He must do something, he must…

This was never on the contract. Not this.

Dwalin wraps his arms around his king, pinioning him and dragging him forcibly backwards, away from the limp body on the floor. Thorin struggles as Balin stands in front of him to try and calm him, the other dwarves streaming in to support the injured.

The Arkenstone rolls gently from unresponsive fingers, bouncing lightly down the steps and slithering down the slope tantalisingly, almost seductively. All eyes are drawn as it is sucked out of sight once more, and the only sounds that are left are Kíli's struggling breaths and the whisper of settling gold.

Blue ice thaws into tears and Thorin ponders whether, this time, the treasure of Durin's line is lost to him for good.


End file.
